


untitled #1

by ugliegay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kissing, Nonbinary Character, Other, Weed :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugliegay/pseuds/ugliegay
Summary: Oikawa hates those damned stoners, the ones that hang out around their apartment building and blare their shitty music so that everyone can hear.





	untitled #1

**Author's Note:**

> This ones for my weed-senpai six. love u bih

Oikawa likes to think they hate those kids.

There’s a group that hangs out in front of the no smoking sign, like a blatant display of disrespect. They’ve got tired eyes and oversized hoodies and they smell like shit. Oikawa hates them.

So Oikawa thinks.

It’s at a party when they learn different. They’ve escaped to balcony, the sweaty bodies becoming too much to bear. From the corner of their eye, there’s movement, a man, probably still a boy. He’s got those lazy brown eyes, inky curls spread on the lawn chair like tendrils reaching out to Oikawa. His jeans are ripped. He blows smoke into the night air with full lips and Oikawa despises the way their eyes linger.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he says, and Oikawa melts. His voice is rough, dark, just like him. He’s smooth, beautiful.

With a sneer, they tilt their head down. “And you are?” they reply with just right amount of prude, the right amount of openness.

“Matsukawa Issei.” He closes his eyes and then opens them again, pupils blown wide. The blunt sits in his right hand, an open invitation swirling out the end and curling against Oikawa’s nose. “Wanna learn how to shotgun?”

Oikawa is helpless to their reply. “Yes,” they breathe.

Matsukawa stands up from his pink lawn chair, smirking so beautiful. He smells disgusting and tantalizing all in one. His long spindly fingers lift the blunt to his mouth and he breathes in deep, holding the exhale, and stepping into Oikawa’s space just like that. Those hands wrap around Oikawa’s waist, gentler than expected.

Oikawa closes their eyes, leans forward, and Matsukawa is surrounding them. He breathes the smoke into Oikawa’s open mouth. They surrender to it, attempting their best to inhale every last tendril, coughing a little bit in Matsukawa’s hold.

And the pair of them dissolve into giggles. It’s ridiculous. Everything about this is ridiculous because Oikawa doesn’t hate Matsukawa, not even in the slightest. The fading lights of the street, the muffled music of the party, it only amplifies his beauty, the art of his disheveled appearance.

Oikawa presses their lips against Matsukawa’s, moving slow and steady. They slip their tongue in and gods, he tastes like weed, like smoke and cherry chapstick. Fingers tangle in those inky curls, so close to Matsukawa. So very close.

When Oikawa breaks away, they’re still connect by a string of saliva and the fingernails digging into each other. Oikawa doesn’t hate him.

In fact, they might be a little in love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twit @ugliegay


End file.
